


Presents

by Teland



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, Food Sex, Happy Ending, Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-10-02
Updated: 1998-10-02
Packaged: 2020-12-09 17:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20998571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: Alex drops by with a bag of goodies.





	Presents

**Author's Note:**

> This was a gift for Imajiru, who gave me my very first home on the internet, lo these forever years ago. Thanks go always to her, and to the Spike for beta.

Mulder finished off his draft of the report with an   
unnecessarily vicious jab at the enter key, selected print,   
and leaned back in his chair. His vision was grainy, hazed   
around the edges and blinking didn't help at all. He   
considered changing his font again. He wondered when he'd   
begun using the concept of "drafts." 

He remembered being fifteen, looking at the gushing praise   
scrawled redly all over the back of one of his term papers   
and realizing just how pointless things were, really. Of   
course, Mulder was also aware of how stereotypically   
adolescent the belief was, but the knowledge had been   
unhelpful. Not when he knew full well that the paper in   
question had been rushed out in an insomniac haze the night   
before it was due... So long as he was quiet his mother   
wouldn't catch him awake. So long as he was neat the   
teachers would adore the work and him by association. He'd   
given up bothering with drafts. Until Scully. 

No, he was willing to admit that wasn't fair. The X Files   
in general demanded the sort of ruthless creativity he'd   
only ever been able to manage with the help of illegal   
drugs and sleep deprivation before his impression of a   
career had begun. Scully just made it *official* that he'd   
have to work a little harder to get by. 

Times like these, vision gone dull with exhaustion, hearing   
treated to nothing more musical than the uneven patter of   
drizzle outside his window, he couldn't help feeling it was   
a bit unfair. Couldn't help wondering with shameless   
morbidity if it would only get harder as he got older and   
weaker. Wearier. 

So he couldn't quite bring himself to care overmuch about   
the barely audible creak of a floorboard behind and to the   
left of him. About the wash of wet leather that made his   
tongue ache. About the prick of ice cold steel against his   
throat. But it was, perhaps, a good time to make   
conversation.

"A little low tech for you, isn't it, Krycek?"

"Call me Alex."

"Because you have a knife to my jugular?"

Low chuckle and a shift that brought Alex a little closer.   
Close enough to make the hairs on the back of Mulder's neck   
prickle in a way that seemed to demand a lolling back. A   
nuzzle into the hard belly just behind him. "Not really,   
Mulder..."

It was hard to stay still. "Then why?" The knife traveled a   
little further down, ducked between the collar of Mulder's   
t-shirt and the flushing -- he could feel it -- skin of his   
throat. The placement was no longer one of immediate   
deadliness, but he was... tired. "Why?"

The sound of his t-shirt being neatly split in half was   
obscenely loud, but still nowhere near enough camouflage   
for his gasp. Mulder had to admire the immediate jerk of   
the knife away from his heaving stomach. It made the cut   
uneven, but it implied that Alex wasn't planning to scar   
him. This early. Alex's voice was a lazy purr. "Just   
because..."

He ran the flat of the blade back over Mulder's torso and   
pressed in closer from behind. Mulder was positive that,   
were the back of his chair to melt away, he'd be able to   
feel nothing but heat. This was moving too fast when it   
shouldn't have been moving at all. "What the hell do you   
want, Krycek?"

The knife was immediately removed, the heat as well. Mulder   
had a sudden flash of distaste at the idea of turning to   
face his visitor, at himself for hating the idea of motion   
more than the inevitable result. It had to be done, though. 

Alex was holding out an open backpack, worn to battered   
softness. His expression was careful and placid, though his   
eyes were bright with mischief. The silence was starting to   
stretch uncomfortably, the sort of weight that made Mulder   
long to jump in with any one of the smart-assed quips he'd   
begun storing as a child. Sound and energy to fill the   
blank spaces... but the encounter was entirely wrong. The   
air was cool and heavy with fall moisture on his chest and   
the man in front of him wasn't doing this right, at all. 

There needed to be harshly whispered secrets and excuses.   
He needed to bruise his knuckles on the bone beneath   
stubbled skin. There wasn't enough urgency to this and   
sleep was a temptation denied. 

"What'd you bring me, Daddy, hunh?" There was a depressing   
lack of intensity to the sarcasm in his voice. 

Quirk of an eyebrow and Mulder knew the other man had   
picked up on his own low... enthusiasm? Was that what was   
missing? It seemed obscene. Deeply sick to be disappointed   
he wasn't beating on Alex. Or rather, to be disappointed he   
didn't wish to do so.

"Did I come at a bad time?"

"Do you ever come at a good time?"

Alex snorted and tossed him the backpack, moving further   
away at the same time. A declaration of safety, then -- the   
sort of thing that should've been completely at odds with   
his shredded shirt.

"There aren't any nasty toothed things in here, are there?" 

"Not this time, no. And I... never mind."

Mulder paused with his hand half in the bag. "What?"

Alex shrugged, made his way over to the couch. "Toothed. Ed   
words in general. Very..." A smile he'd never seen before,   
brightly wicked, confident and calm. Mulder's knuckles   
itched. "Cute."

"Cute."

"Tooth-ed, fatigue-ed, arouse-ed..." 

"It's not every day I get my clothes sliced off, Krycek."

Brief frown. "Alex."

"What, before I even see what my prezzies are?"

"Tooth-ed. Prezzies. More demon children for you to put up   
with on the job?"

"You know how it is with these kids today--" Mulder bit his   
own words off, quietly appalled at their ease, quietly   
disgusted at his surprise. He began to rummage, growing   
frustrated at the disappointment of his sensory   
expectations. The backpack was nearly empty, no files or   
envelopes that he could feel. 

It occurred to Mulder part of the ease to the encounter was   
that he *did* have certain expectations. It seemed as   
though there'd never been a time that his professional life   
hadn't come with the occasional clandestinely received   
file, the whispered 3 a.m. phone calls that had left him   
numb to the expectation of tragedy. Last spring he'd begun   
discarding the packages, ignoring the calls.

In retrospect, it was only logical his shadowy 

//puppeteers//

presumed allies had decided it was time for a personal   
visit. And after... After that it was impossible to believe   
the putatively anonymous tips he continued to receive came   
from anyone but the man on his couch. But the only thing he   
felt of any consequence in the pack was a slim, cool   
canister. Entertaining thoughts of plague and alien   
organisms with something like excitement, he pulled the   
canister out. To see a gaily colored can of Redi-Whip.

"Whipped cream?" Mulder was grateful for the clarity of   
incredulity in his words, but the edge of disappointment   
was rapidly growing tiresome. "I'd have thought your kinks   
would be a *little* more interesting than this, Krycek."

"My kinks." A pause. "You've thought about my kinks?"

Mulder decided to let the silence hang, set the can aside   
and continued to rummage. Butterscotch sauce. He gave the   
plastic squeeze bottle an ostentatiously quizzical look,   
turned it on the man who'd brought the stuff to his   
apartment. Took the opportunity to get a better look. Sleek   
and well-fed even under the leather... new leather, too. He   
chose to believe the newness justified how the scent of it   
was still heavy on his palate. The past summer had been   
kind to some, it appeared.

"Just what *did* you have planned for tonight?"

Alex snickered, shifted a little on the couch. "Gee,   
Mulder, I think I'd much rather hear you speculate."

"C'mon, haven't we long since established I have a filthy   
mind?"

Broad grin and Mulder wondered if it was the same as the   
one Alex had worn that first night in the cell, in the   
dark. Dirty jokes and stifled laughter. Anything to pass   
the time. Well, perhaps not anything. 

"... mean I don't want to hear it."

Mulder snapped back to himself with a jerk he knew was all   
too visible. The eyes retained their humor but there was a   
seriousness beneath it. Speculation, indeed. For just a   
moment Mulder toyed with the idea of telling Alex precisely   
what he was thinking. Face down on the bed, jerking a   
little -- he'd be tied -- at the feel of cool sauce being   
squeezed down the length of his spine and beyond. Perhaps   
the jacket would be pillowed under his head...

"Nothing all that interesting, Krycek."

A snort. "Liar."

//Yes, but that's what we're *supposed* to be doing.//

"Just tell me what you had planned, Krycek."

He was subjected to an eyebrow quirk in response, and his   
apartment seemed to be spinning rapidly out of sync with   
the rest of reality. This was wrong.

"Fine. What did you have planned, Alex?" There, the   
exasperation at least was perfect, but Alex only grinned at   
him. 

"Check your freezer."

Mulder sighed once, decided to roll with it. "Too much to   
hope for a corpse with mysterious circumstance behind its   
demise, isn't it?"

Alex shook his head. "I *knew* I should've brought the two-  
headed tarantula instead."

Mulder paused on his way to the kitchen. He didn't trust   
his ability to hide a smile so he didn't bother to turn.   
"Instead of what?"

"Would you just go *look*?"

And Mulder went. At first, there seemed to be nothing out   
of the ordinary -- same old TV dinners, Scully's round and   
efficient little Tupperware dish filled with her attempt at   
casserole. That had been an... experience... though he had   
to admit the wine had been excellent, the conversation;   
reassuring. But there it was, right in front of his face. A   
half-gallon of premium ice cream. Vanilla ice cream. 

Vanilla.

Perhaps this was Alex's game. Frustrate him to the point of   
homicide with blandness before setting him loose on the   
world. He was willing to bet there weren't even any   
sprinkles. 

"Find it OK?"

Mulder couldn't help stiffening at the husky little purr   
from the vicinity of his left ear, the heat the man   
radiated. He was abruptly aware that his chest was still   
bare, and that his nipples were spiked with cold. It was   
all so annoying: the man could not only creep up on him   
without his knowledge but stock his *freezer*.

"I'm a trained federal agent, Alex." Low chuckle and   
suddenly there was a tongue in ear, lewd and shameless and   
Alex's arm was snaking around his waist, tattered edge of   
his t-shirt pressing into his belly, unmistakable hardness   
against his ass. "Fuck... don't--"

Alex backed off immediately and Mulder slammed the freezer   
closed, quietly shocked to find the ice cream in his hand.   
He set it on the counter and turned. Alex was leaning   
against the kitchen table, dangerously close to an   
extremely tall pile of old folders. His face was as calm as   
ever but Mulder couldn't miss Alex's quick swipe of the   
tongue over his lower lip. Or the ruthless adjustment the   
younger man made to the bulge in his pants. Mulder knew he   
was staring, but his mouth still...

"Ache..."

"What, Mulder?"

"Toothache. We're going to get toothaches if we eat all   
this ice cream." With a dreamy sort of horror Mulder   
realized the reason why he had no idea how Alex was   
reacting was that he was staring nowhere near the other   
man's eyes. Slow drag up over the torso and he was nearly   
caught again by the just-a-little-too hard breathing,   
smooth jaw, parted lips, and finally the eyes. Far too dark   
and serious. 

Mulder was struck with a sudden bone-deep belief that Alex   
was poised on the edge of pouncing on him. Slamming him   
back against the freezer and taking his mouth like he'd   
taken his ear. Gripping him roughly through the jeans   
and...

"... eat it all."

Mulder snapped his gaze back to Alex's face. "What?"

Another laugh, but shaky enough to be shattering in its own   
right. "I said, we don't have to eat it all."

"Oh, right..."

A move, too fast for reaction beyond the reflexive bend in   
Mulder's knee as he reached for his throwaway, but Alex was   
only wielding an ice cream scoop.

His foot fell with a thump. "Christ, Alex, don't you ever   
get mixed up?"

"You'd be surprised what a well-trained man can do with an   
ice cream scoop, Mulder."

"Really?"

"Well, no..."

"Part of you is going to be thinking about the problem all   
night, isn't it?"

Alex snorted once, gave him another grin. "I think that   
depends on you, Mulder."

He could take this as seriously as his own rapidly   
tightening jeans were insisting; he could take the   
invitation to laugh at all the obvious sexual tension.   
Mulder's neck prickled at the acknowledgment and he   
wondered when they'd gained so much *history*. "I'll get   
the bowls."

"Good call." And Alex waited until Mulder had moved to the   
opposite corner of the room before moving in on the ice   
cream. It was a courtesy that felt more like a tease, but   
Mulder had to wonder how much of that was his own fault.   
Which made him bang the cabinet door shut just a little too   
hard.

Alex was digging into the ice cream with the scoop, small   
frown of concentration doing far too little to mar his   
features, and there was a chance -- a good one -- that some   
of that new-leather wash of scent had attached itself to   
the little plastic thing. He wanted to find out. He wanted   
to walk over there -- as he was doing now -- rip the scoop   
out of Alex's grasp, and lick it clean. Just to find out.   
But he settled for placing the bowls down, trying not to   
hover. 

He could go out to the living room and take the plastic   
wrapper off the butterscotch sauce. Presumably Alex liked   
it, or he wouldn't have brought it. He could pop the cap on   
the whipped cream and take a massive hit of nitrous. He   
suspected he'd be disappointed at how the effects would   
compare to this night, though, or even his life in general.   
He could lean a little closer... 

Mulder gave up and ran his nose along Alex's shoulder, felt   
the younger man stiffen and fisted his hands in the   
leather, digging in slightly at Alex's waist. Continued the   
journey up around the collar and felt the tickle of short   
hairs against his forehead.

"Mulder, what..." 

And the sound of Alex's voice made him remember the point   
of this exercise was to breathe deep. And he did, groaning   
because it was just as good as he'd imagined, sharp and   
strong at this distance. He pressed himself harder against   
Alex and continued, halting his hands' progress over the   
trim waist and down by tightening his grip on the jacket   
until he'd reached the abrupt end of the other shoulder.   
Then he reminded himself to let go.

"Living room, then?" There was a brief jab of pain in   
Mulder's hands, another reminder of encroaching age and   
winter, but his voice was admirably steady.

Alex didn't turn immediately. "You are *such* a pervert."

"I'm not the one who brings whipped cream and butterscotch   
sauce and then expects people to actually *eat* it. With   
*food*."

There was an edge in Alex's laugh and that was just fine,   
too. Mulder grabbed a spoon from the dishrack, retrieved   
his bowl, and left the kitchen. Felt eyes on his back and   
wondered how much longer they were going to play at this.   
Set his ice cream on the coffee table. Flopped easily on   
the couch, and wondered if it was too early to throw one   
leg over the back of the thing. And then there was the   
thump-clatter of a bowl hitting the end table behind him   
and a cool hand gripping his chin and tilting his head   
back. The kiss was awkward but the taste was sweet -- Alex   
hadn't waited before digging in. His tongue was a casual   
invader, and as soon as Mulder began sucking on it the hand   
began to rove: tickling his throat, lingering alarmingly   
before finding a nipple and squeezing not hard enough.   
Mulder growled once before reaching back and yanking the   
other man up and over his body. 

Alex giggled and allowed himself to be manhandled, the   
tangled sprawl of their limbs resolving itself with them   
both more off the couch than on. A vicious bite to Mulder's   
calf made him jerk hard enough to land them on the floor,   
but he couldn't bring himself to regret that. Not with Alex   
obliging him with bites all the way up his thigh. 

Mulder tried to get both his jeans and the tattered remains   
of his shirt off at the same time, finally gave up on the   
shirt as a lost cause when he realized Alex was hovering at   
just that point where things got interesting. Moving from   
thigh to thigh, then back again, teeth digging in at the   
exact same pressure each time... Mulder's fingers were   
suddenly, hopelessly clumsy, and he vowed never to purchase   
button-flies again.

"Fuck! Alex, what the hell did you do with the knife?"

He paused mid-bite and Mulder swore he could see the corner   
of his mouth twitch. Laughter in the middle of sex was a   
good thing, but he'd be damned if he'd give the man enough   
time and freedom to indulge in it right *now*.

"Gee, Mulder, you reacted so *badly* to it before... I   
thought you might like it if I took it a little easier,   
instead." And he ran a slow, meticulously gentle hand up   
Mulder's flank. 

Too much. "Just get my fucking pants off and suck me,   
dammit!"

Mulder felt fingers tighten briefly on his hip and then   
Alex was nosing his crotch, less a nuzzle than a full-  
facial rub. Animalistic, harsh on the both of them. With   
unerring instinct Alex found the trapped head of his cock   
and sucked hard, growled and Mulder was arching into the   
heat, helpless and needful and it felt so good...

Just as suddenly, Alex pulled himself off and knelt up,   
straddling him. "Please--"

"Grab your fly and hold it away from yourself... Oh, Jesus,   
don't... don't rub like that, Mulder, I'm not that   
good...." 

Another shaky laugh and Mulder finally had a decent grip on   
nothing but the pants, abruptly grateful for his own poor   
eating habits and positive he'd be grateful he'd chosen   
briefs this morning. Alex had the knife in his teeth,   
ludicrously piratical but the practiced shimmy out of the   
jacket inspired nothing resembling humor. 

Knife in his hand, now, and Mulder waited. Watched Alex   
*glare* at the hand until it stopped trembling and then   
Alex cut in just below Mulder's thumb and ripped the fly   
free. Complex little motion and Alex was gripping the knife   
by the tip, seemed poised to toss the thing at some random   
wall. Mulder caught him by the forearm, felt muscles tense   
interestingly under his palm.

"Why don't you just... set it aside for now, Alex?"

"For now."

Not a question so Mulder chose not to answer, instead   
running his hand along the other man's arm, digging his   
thumb in small, suggestive circles on the smooth wrist. He   
could feel Alex's gaze demanding a meeting and he complied,   
smiling once into the gleam before leaning back on his   
elbows and bucking as much as he could under Alex's warm,   
solid weight.

Thick lashes fluttered closed. "Mmm... yeah... you wanted   
me to suck you..."

Mulder chuckled low in his throat and made spreading   
motions with his thighs. "That was the plan, yes."

Wicked grin and Alex was scooting back and flattening   
himself, grabbing the waistband of Mulder's briefs in his   
teeth and yanking them down just far enough. Short laps   
along his shaft and each was its own slash; wet bladed cuts   
that left him squirming and groaning. Begging with the   
mindless snap of his hips toward a mouth that refused to   
descend properly.

"Don't... don't tease please I want to come in your   
mouth..."

Alex nosed his sack out of the way and bit him high on the   
thigh, sharp and warningly but the pain shot to the base of   
his spine and mingled with everything else and he cried out   
for more. Alex bit him again and suckled, and Mulder knew   
he'd have a bruise tomorrow but all he wanted -- all he   
could care about -- was the concept of more. Abstract in   
the extreme but *good*.

Alex began yanking at his ruined pants, growling soft and   
low and Mulder reached down to help as much as he was able,   
lifting his hips and 

"Christ, Mulder--"

wriggling to make it easier, or perhaps just for the sheer   
joy of wriggling and Alex was back down again, bracing his   
forearm low on Mulder's abdomen and sucking in the head of   
his cock. Bright heat and near-pain and not enough time to   
work it out in his head before Alex was taking him deep.   
Mulder could feel throat muscles working and he let his   
head fall back to the floor, grateful for the carpeting and   
the enthusiastic suck and the oh Christ *hum* --

"Alex--"

And then his own voice was a mystery to him, flat and   
shameless but it was probably just more and Alex again and   
again and his body was restless under Alex, snapping and   
rolling like he'd wanted to do since the first guileless,   
lying "C'mon," since the first time he'd felt that lean,   
hard length struggling against his own....

Alex pulled back until he had just the head in his mouth,   
pulled hard once, twice and Mulder *would* make him tell   
who'd taught him how and he buried his hands in the soft   
dark hair and the flow of it was an eternity of water and   
Alex took him deep again. One last, wet moan around his   
length and he was coming hard, deep into Alex's throat and   
the rough cry was broken glass in his throat.

Mulder opened his eyes to a view of plain white socks, toes   
wriggling a bit within their confines. Clink-scrape from   
above and he craned his neck to see Alex stretched out on   
his couch, eating ice cream and still mostly clothed.   
Mulder looked down at himself, took in the shredded t-shirt   
puddled around his shoulders, kicked off the tangle of his   
pants. 

The thought of some faceless drone pawing through his trash   
and finding his clothes was almost pleasant enough to   
ignore the picture of calm on his couch. Almost. 

Mulder forced his sex-slackened limbs to motion and stood,   
still wobbly.

"Do you have any *idea* how sexy you look with just that t-  
shirt, Mulder?"

He refused to be distracted. "You're eating the ice cream."

Alex smiled, got himself another liquid spoonful. "I am,   
indeed."

"It's not even a solid anymore, it's... it's vanilla   
*soup*."

Alex turned his gaze to the bowl, wobbled it a bit. "You   
have a point."

"Why aren't you fucking me?" 

//OK, that wasn't in the script.//

The other man just tilted the bowl up and slurped the mess   
down, not even bothering to wipe away the vanilla mustache   
melting its way over his lips. Quick and mostly ineffectual   
swipe of the tongue. "It's not *every* day I get the chance   
for a good bowl of ice cream."

Mulder nodded once, picked up the knife, and advanced.   
Settled himself on Alex with a moan and leaned in to clean   
away the offending ice cream with his tongue. Alex dropped   
his head back against the arm rest and lay nearly passive   
under Mulder's attentions, only his thumb moving, working   
Mulder's nipple with restless focus. Finally, Mulder let   
his tongue slip inside and couldn't hold back the moan at   
the taste of himself mingled so decadently with cool   
sweetness. 

That spurred Alex to action and Mulder was treated to the   
singular sensation of having his own tongue licked with the   
sort of regard for detail that would make a CPA proud. The   
twitch in his still over-sensitized cock was, perhaps, the   
most obvious sign that it had been too long. Never mind   
that he was grinding himself, heedless of pain or shame,   
into another man. Never mind said man was Alex Krycek...

No, he'd have to take that back. It was Alex Krycek licking   
his tongue, and Alex Krycek stroking and petting and   
gripping him hard, and it was Alex Krycek whose dick would   
be as far up his ass as he could convince the man to go. 

Mulder stood up again, letting Alex's hand catch nothing   
but his t-shirt, reveling in the odd sensation of freedom   
as it was finally pulled away from his body as he made his   
way to the bedroom. Brief twist ensured the knife remained   
firmly in his grasp, loose-limbed dip and he had his own   
bowl of vanilla soup. A creak of old leather and Alex was   
behind him again, he knew it, and damned if he didn't   
intend to keep him there.

"Bring the whipped cream."

"Yes, *sir*." And the smile was audible, but Mulder found   
he was growing a little used to it.

"And the butterscotch sauce."

"Way ahead of you."

Mulder thought about sharing his musings about the benefits   
of Alex staying behind him but decided against it in the   
darkened bedroom. The streetlights only enhanced the gleam   
in the other man's eyes and Mulder set the bowl down on the   
end-table; tugged the toppings out of Alex's unresisting   
grip and tossed them on the bed. Made his own ridiculously   
clumsy cut with the knife -- Alex wasn't laughing -- before   
finally tearing the thing off. Tossed the knife away,   
pleased at the satisfying thunk into his wall. Finally   
allowed himself to take in Alex's naked torso. 

Scarred, asymmetrical, but essentially *Alex* in a way that   
was terrifyingly easy to believe in. Beautiful. Mulder   
shook off the momentary paralysis, caught Alex by the jeans   
and pulled him close, claiming another kiss.

Still sweet-bitter, still intoxicating and Mulder was   
grateful his hands were finally behaving, yanking open the   
jeans and catching Alex at the root. The move earned him a   
gasp and a bite to the lip. Perfection but Mulder wanted   
more. Tossed Alex on the bed and yanked the jeans and   
boxers off, and reminding his body of the lessened urgency   
didn't make it any easier to move as slowly as his mind   
desired.

Alex was hard and ready for him and there was so much he   
wanted to do and feel and... taste. Mulder felt his mouth   
curl into a smile but the look of encroaching apprehension   
on Alex's face was a better gauge than any mirror of how it   
must look. He dumped the ice cream soup unceremoniously   
along the other man's length to the accompaniment of a   
truly inspiring shriek. 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Mulder!"

"Oh, c'mon, it's not *that* cold." He punctuated his   
mollification with a lick of promise along Alex's softening   
cock. And reached for the butterscotch sauce. The squirm   
was an entertainment in itself, but...

"Jesus-- the *sheets*!"

"We'll burn 'em with my clothes. Knees up and spread." Alex   
obeyed with a giggle, followed by a reflexive jerk as the   
new positioning caused some of the mess to move to more   
interesting areas. Mulder considered the whipped cream,   
decided it might be a little much. He surveyed his   
handiwork and grinned ruefully. Alex was a mess, although   
Mulder had to admit he was a terribly attractive and   
tempting one. 

Mulder grabbed a pillow and set it under the other man's   
willing hips and began to lap. "You couldn't just get some   
chocolate sauce?"

Alex had begun to tremble with the first touch of his   
tongue along his perineum, words spoken there made him   
jerk. Mulder wrapped his arms around the lean, sticky   
thighs to hold him steady.

"I didn't... didn't want to be too predictable Christ don't   
stop..."

Husky and hoarse and wanting and impossible to resist.   
Mulder tightened his hold on Alex's thighs and did his   
level best to lick him clean. And then gave up on that and   
just rimmed the man. He hadn't done this for another man in   
years and it was just as good as he remembered. Dark taste   
losing nothing to the cloying sweetness, moans and pleas   
sending him quietly reeling...

But he wanted more. One final stab and Mulder ran his   
tongue back up, pausing to suck on Alex's lightly quivering   
sack before giving it a firm tug with his fingers.

"Bastard!"

"This isn't the time for your latest excuse about my   
father, Alex."

Alex's breathy laugh was more than a little tinged with   
shock, snapping Mulder far enough back into himself that he   
could decide, for perhaps the thousandth time, that he   
really was quite fucked up. That taken care of he could   
continue licking just enough to get Alex's cock condom   
ready. And then just a little bit more because that hand   
massaging his scalp was a fine thing and he could get used   
to butterscotch so long as it never lost the gift of   
bitter, pearling fluid and sharp cries...

But he wanted more. Mulder pulled off, narrowly avoiding   
losing a large tuft of hair to Alex's fingers. He fumbled   
in the end table for condoms and slick and the purr he got   
when they landed on the bed was the sort of thing that   
coiled around the base of the spine and settled there with   
sleepy contentment. 

"How do you want to do this Mulder, hmm?" Hand stroking his   
thigh, tugging a bit at the short hairs.

"My way."

Short bark of laughter and Alex was settling his arm behind   
his head, laying himself out obligingly. "You know, if you   
keep behaving this way I'm *never* going to bring the two-   
headed tarantula."

Mulder rolled the condom on Alex, taking far too long, but   
there was all that damned sticky stuff to be considered   
and... "Was that supposed to be a threat, Alex?" Brief   
squeeze to get another moan.

"N-no... I'm just... absolutely terrified about what you'd   
*do* with it."

"Are you..." The feel of the lube was cool on his fingers   
and made Alex move encouragingly under his hand. Had to be   
instinctive. He doubted anyone -- faced with a flushed,   
moaning, and fully erect Alex -- would be able to do many   
things beyond the obvious. Unless, of course, they *led* to   
the obvious. 

"Am I what?"

"Hmmm...?"

"Mulder... take it easy..."

Mulder shook himself out of it again and positioned himself   
above Alex, squeezed more slick on his fingers and began to   
rub a little warmth into it. "I was going to ask you a   
question..."

"Yeah?" Alex eyes were burning, wholly focused on what   
Mulder was doing. He licked his lips again and Mulder   
hissed at the sight, decided if he was going to get himself   
done he'd have to avoid it for a while.

"Do you honestly mean to tell me you *weren't* planning   
this when you packed all the dessert toppings?"

Alex laughed, groaned and rolled as the sound apparently   
shot to his own cock. "Well... I never thought... thought   
you'd go through with it..."

A small voice began to yell at his pride for feeling   
bruised, but some things weren't to be borne. "Really."

Again, not a question and Mulder didn't bother looking for   
a response, just reached back and took himself, knowing on   
some level that Alex would never do it this hard but it   
felt *good*. He could feel his spine arching as he worked   
his fingers, a twist and he was crying out, eyes long since   
closed and of course he knew how to do this for himself...   
but it was almost too much to think about the fact he was   
doing it for someone else this time.

Better for it to be a solitary game, better not to think   
about the thighs flexing restlessly between his own, the   
meaningless string of hoarse pleas raining on his ears...   
better to be alone in this, fingers deep and flexing, cock   
painting his own abdomen with the promise that yes, he'd be   
allowed to grasp it soon, stroke fast and hard but that   
wasn't *his* hand on his cock...

"Mulder, please--"

Well, that game ended quickly but Mulder couldn't bring   
himself to regret it, not when he could catch Alex's cock   
by the base and position it, not when he could sink down   
and gasp at the blunt reality, further and sob, just a   
little... Alex still held him and began to stroke, just as   
carefully as he expected but the hand was callused and   
strong and it was enough to make Mulder move. He pulled   
off, aching at the loss despite his control and slammed   
back down, pinioning himself wonderfully and he wanted.

Alex heard the request and leaned back, bracing himself as   
much as possible and slamming hard, leaving Mulder to take   
his own cock and jerk. There was nothing quite like this at   
all, even with other men. Alex poured everything he had   
into his fuck, loud and reckless and just what Mulder   
needed. He screwed himself down, tossing his head back and   
groaning, begging for more when he was getting everything   
he wanted and more than he'd dreamed.

The night wasn't supposed to have gone this way, but Mulder   
could take it, take Alex and let himself be taken, lose   
himself in a brutal ride and the sound of his own cries,   
wonder if it would ever happen again. If he could ever   
*allow* it to happen again, but thoughts like that burned   
faster than the fuse of his spine. He was his aching cock   
and his marvelously split ass and nothing more than that   
could possibly matter...

And Mulder felt it start to build and fought it back for a   
few more precious moments of give and receive before losing   
it altogether, close to tumbling off with the strength of   
it but Alex's cock was its own foundation and force,   
holding him steady even while driving him mad, shouting and   
coming, rode to the sort of oblivion he dreamed of when it   
was cold and he was...

******

Mulder woke up alone. Or, so he thought at first. The empty   
space beside him was still quite warm and reeked pleasantly   
of Alex and far too much sugar. The sheets were hopeless,   
by the feel of them. He nudged himself out from under a   
soft mass of pillow, listened. There was the soft creak of   
a floorboard.

He pulled himself out of bed, glanced at the clock and   
winced. Tomorrow -- today -- would be a vacation day. Fuck   
the reports, he'd e-mail them in. For now, he needed to get   
some idea of what he should expect.

Made his way to the living room and found Alex on the   
couch, slumped against the back, eyes closed yet in   
constant motion behind the lids.

"Mmph. What are you doing up?"

Mulder shrugged, realized that further coherency was   
probably required at this point, realized he had no idea   
what to say, and moved to join the other man on the couch.   
Had to try, though...

"You know, you could --"

And the eyes snapped open immediately, fixed him with a   
look both wry and a bit rueful. "No, I can't."

Mulder nodded, picked up the backpack from where it had   
landed the night before. "So... what else do you have in   
here, Alex? Did I miss anything important?"

Chuckle broken with a yawn. "Not sure... haven't carried   
the thing in a long time."

"And yet you told me with a straight face there weren't any   
nasty tooth-ed things in here."

"Well, I was reasonably sure. Go ahead and rummage. Maybe   
you *did* miss something important."

Mulder obliged, pulling out an assortment of commonly   
pretty stones that got him a blush and a sour little twist   
of the mouth, a large New York City subway token with a "Y"   
punched out the middle --

"Hey, I said it had been a while, Mulder."

"Yes, but you weren't even--"

"A souvenir."

//Of what? Another time...//

The prize had to be the dark blue and extremely battered   
paperback copy of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ he   
found when he pried up the bit of cardboard that gave the   
pack shape. 

Alex reached for the book, turned it a little wonderingly   
before handing it back to Mulder. "I'd forgotten about   
that. I used to..."

"Used to what?"

Alex gave him a look of exasperated tolerance, shifted into   
a slightly more upright position. "I used to read a few   
pages of that every day to... Well, just because."

Mulder thought about it for a moment, before nodding his   
understanding.

"You can keep it, if you want. Tends to make everything   
else... normal."

Mulder breathed, set the book down, closed the backpack,   
set *that* down. Turned to look at Alex and twisted himself   
awkwardly, taking Alex's face in his hands.

//Come back soon.//

The kiss was slow and gentle and easy, though difficult to   
pull away from.

"Thank you."

Mulder took the bright grin for the farewell he hoped it   
was and went back to the bedroom. He really did need to get   
some sleep.   
~~~~  
End.  
~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> October 1998 note: 
> 
> When I asked Imajiru what I could possibly give her   
for providing me with a home (I have a home! I have a   
home!) she replied:
> 
> "M/K, a knife, need, intensity, whipped cream, a toothache,  
butterscotch sauce, and one of those NYC Subway tokens   
that went out of circulation 20 years ago."
> 
> Hope you like your present, chica!


End file.
